


In My Dreams, Sometimes I Ride The Mountains on a Spotted Horse

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 08:28:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22493077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: After a 'consultation' turns hazardous, Chief lies in a bed, unconscious.  Those who care for him, love him, are there, calling to him, giving him a lifeline to cling to, but they despair as he comes no closer to them, perhaps even drifts farther away.  The cord, the lifeline, gradually stretches, pulls tighter, taking up the slack, til Meghada can feel it reaching the point where it must surely snap.Takes place after the war.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	In My Dreams, Sometimes I Ride The Mountains on a Spotted Horse

**Author's Note:**

> Third of three stories featuring Chief and a woman, as requested by a friend as a birthday present.

The house wasn't that big, but still they were looking for something relatively small, so there were lots of places to look. Well, at least the owner of the place was away, and the security was pretty pathetic, no one even near the house, only at that one main entrance. They'd had no trouble getting in through the back road, and once inside spreading out to check the most likely places.

Chief took the big bedroom with all the artwork on the walls. Casino took the two somewhat smaller bedrooms at the far end, Actor and Goniff the office and library, while Garrison searched the big open room that, except for the kitchen, filled the downstairs. 

The artwork in the big bedroom was impressive, mostly scenes of the American Southwest, and Chief would have liked to have spent some time looking at them. They reminded him of his earliest days, days spent in the company of his grandfather. Perhaps once they found that bracelet there would be time, but for now, he had a job to do. 

Now, if that bracelet was here, just where might it be hidden? There was a long shelf, boxes of various sizes, some wooden, some fashioned from metal, some woven from reeds or straw - that seemed a likely place to start. One by one he opened them - bone fragments, arrowheads, shards of pottery, bits of turquoise.

Chief frowned down at the last small box in his hand; the metal clasp gave way to his prying fingers, but what it contained wasn't what he'd hoped to find. No, not the emerald bracelet that had been stolen from their client, the bracelet they'd been hired to find and retrieve. 

The box contained only a gritty powder of some sort, swirls of burgundy and grey and green. He started to close and relock the box when the first quiver of apprehension caused him to frown, look around for whatever had sent that warning through his system.

The last thing he saw before the earthquake hit and toppled that heavy oak wardrobe over on him was that large painting on the side wall - an Indian brave atop a spotted horse, surveying the desert below from a place high on a cliff. Streaks of color splashed across the man's face and chest - burgundy and grey and green - though whether that was paint or reflections from the landscape he couldn't tell, and he didn't get a chance to look more closely.

Goniff and Actor found him there, pulled the wardrobe off, checked him for injuries, Chief not so much as opening his eyes.

"W'at's 'e got all over 'im?" Goniff asked, looking at the multi-colored streaks and stains of powder on Chief's face and throat and hands.

"I don't know, Goniff. Go and fetch the others; I find no broken bones, but we need to get him out of here before anyone arrives to check for damage to the house and contents."

None of the others had been injured, and they all worked together to get their unconscious friend out to where they'd left their vehicle. It was only after Garrison was cursing at ever having taken on this job in the first place that Casino remembered he had that stolen bracelet securely in his pocket. 

"Found it in that floor safe in the upstairs bedroom," he said absently. 

That bracelet, so important to the woman who was the true owner, was the least important thing on any of their minds at the moment. The most important thing was getting Chief back to where he could be cared for properly. 

And when the doctors said there was nothing they could find physically wrong, that the only thing that could be done was to wait for him to wake up again, they took him home - to wait, for as long as it took. And to care for him, give him a lifeline to guide him back to them. If he decided to come back, that is.

Chief:  
Voices, faces, names - they swirl around me, overpowering me, as I start to remember. Life after life, joy and sorrow, rejoicing and mourning. The way ahead is filled with a shimmering fog. What awaits me? And do I have any say in that? And then the fog clears.

I was riding the mountains, the sturdy Kitchi balancing carefully over the uneven ground. We had been friends from some time, that loyal spotted horse and I, and had seen much together. 

In the valley below, I saw the encampment, flags flying high proclaiming they followed the Totem of the Hawk. I had met their kind before, had no enmity with them, and I hungered for the sound of voices other than mine own. So we made our way down to the dwellings, offering respectful greetings to the guards, asking for shelter for a brief time.

They welcomed me, that wandering village of fierce-featured men, raven-haired women. Gave me food and water and shelter; welcomed me to their camp fires, into their company.

As was their custom, the Greeting-Maidens came to me as I left the camp fire at night, for me to choose who would bid me a fair welcome, share my bed. It had been so long, it seemed, since I had known the scent of a woman, the feel of a warm, willing body next to mine. After asking enough to know there was no compulsion placed on her, no obligation placed on me, I welcomed her gladly, the small woman with mischief in her eyes that I had chosen. 

{"Mischief,"} I puzzled, for some reason thinking of blue eyes, not the dark ones smiling up at me. I brush that thought aside, though, for I could remember no blue-eyed lover in my past; not even a blue-eyed friend, since those were rare in this land.

Each night they came, the Maidens, for the three nights after my arrival, as was their custom, me chosing a different one each time - each different, but each warm and willing. And with each, there was something that struck a chord, something that seemed oddly familiar, though that made no sense - a note in their voice, a movement of their hand, the tilt of their head. Each caused me to hesitate, then try to remember, but it seemed there was nothing to remember, just that odd familiarity.

Soon I was wandering the camp as I wished, them placing no restrictions on me, except that I was to enter no dwelling without an invitation. I played games with the laughing children, made polite conversation with the oldsters around the fire, hunted game with the men and, at their urging, bragged about my exploits as lavishly as they did theirs, displayed my scars to compare with theirs.

Then there was the day the flap on the far dwelling opened, and a woman came forth, one I had not seen before. Raven hair flowing to her knees, clad in white buckskin ornamented with dyed quills, she had a presence, a power I recognized even from the first glimpse.

I saw her, and my eyes seemed drawn to her face, and my heart whispered words they had never said before, echoing a feeling I did not remember ever feeling before. She had not been among the greeting-maidens, but she seemed familiar, oh so familiar, and so beloved even from that first sight. 

Surely we had met before, for the feelings to be so strong, but when? I found myself yearning for her, for a life together with her, the two of us to be always side by side.

That could not have been, of course, for as I was told when I asked, she was Kushala, their Guardian, a Spirit Woman, a woman of power who dwelt among them as healer and guardian and much more. As such, she was beyond anyone's touch, not that any here would have dared.

But as my eyes were drawn to her, it appeared hers were drawn to me as well. And we sat by the open fire and talked, she telling me of her life, me telling of mine, although this time without the bragging and boasting. And we found much to like in each other, and became friends. I told myself that was enough, to be her friend, to have her consider me hers. I tried to set aside my longing, my ever-growing love for Kushala, knowing she would be angry, would send me away if I spoke of it. 

Til the day when I knew I could not remain just friends, that I needed much more. I did not speak of that to her; I knew from what she had told me, what others had said, that the Guardian was not for any man, or any woman, for that matter; that the Guardian might have those who stood at her hand in support, but there could be none that shared her bed, not while she wielded the Power that was within her.

Still, we were friends, closer than any other I had gifted with that name, and so I did not slip away in the night, no matter how I dreaded telling her farewell. And although I did not speak of my feelings, beyond what a departing friend might do, she seemed to understand, touched my hand and wished me well, before returning to the dwelling she shared with her younger sister.

I rode away, the People raising their hands in respect, their shouts of farewell, of well-wishing following me. Perhaps we would meet again, perhaps not, for I was a wanderer just as they were. 

They would have allowed me to stay, that had been made clear. But how could I stay, when I yearned for that which was not permitted? 

If she had needed me, my protection, then I would have forced my thoughts, my desires aside, and stayed as her strong right arm. But there were others who would stand beside her, protect her, even as she held herself apart. She did not need me.

I began the climb to the pass ahead, and Kitchi snorted, came to a stop. The grey mare called Fox waited patiently at the curve in the path, Kushala sitting astride at her ease, traveling pack behind her.

She smiled at me, serenely. "And where do we journey, Bodaway?"

"Your people . . ." I said with hesitation, unable to believe what it seemed she was saying, was offering.

"My people will be safe in the hands of my younger sister, Nascha. The Power has been transferred to her; she will wield it well. My place is at your side, if you wish me there."

And so we journeyed onward, and in the moonlight, our blankets spread beneath us, Kushala became truly mine, as I became hers. And if there was ever a more glorious joining, I cannot imagine it.

Our journeys, our wanderings, were long and sometimes dangerous, but when hurt came, we cared for each other and made each other stronger. The way was often wearying, but we were strengthened by that which joined us. And the nights found us joining together in passion and heat and a knowing that this was right, what was meant to be. And so the seasons passed, and the years, until once again we approached the time when we had first met.

Then the morning came when she told me we must return, that she had felt the calling. 

"It is Nascha's time, the time for her to leave the People and go her own way. The People cannot be left alone without a Guardian. I must take up the Power once again, for their sake."

I also had felt something, some inner urging that I couldn't explain, and not just during the night before, but for some time now. I dreaded the returning, dreading the changes that would mean, but I knew she was right, that we must return.

And so we gathered our traveling packs and started back. I wondered, though I did not speak of it, how this would change things between my Kushala and me. We had shared a life, shared our bed, we were lovers and friends and much more. Would a Guardian of the People also be permitted to keep me at her side, in her bed, or would her reclaiming the Power not allow that? If I were to remain at her side, would it be as her mate, or simply her strong right arm?

The pull, the urging was getting stronger, for me, and from her face, I could tell it was the same for my beloved. But the uncomfortable thought came, that the urging was perhaps different for each of us, although I could not see how that was possible.

Now, below, the flags beckon us, the flags adorning the lodgeposts of that band of wanderers where I first met my Kushala. We head down the slope of the mountain and pause to take in the sight of those camped below. 

I force myself to smile at my Kushala, and she seems to shimmer in the sunlight, become thinner, more distant. At the same time, I feel what I have felt for the past several days and even longer, a tugging at my soul more than at my body, only now it is a fierce burning. It is as if a cord has drawn taut, and now I realize it has always been there, but not making its presence known so sharply before. 

I touch my wrist, feeling nothing more than the leather wristband I had worn for as long as I could remember, a wristband I cannot remember even where it came from, only that it was important. Yet, that is where the pull is coming from, though seeming to be made up of voices, voices intertwined, calling to me, urging me to follow, to return.

I shake my head, trying to get rid of the voices, and as I do, Kushala becomes as she was before, as real as the grey mare she was riding, and I set aside the pull I am feeling to be elsewhere.

Onward we ride, and the pull returns and I no longer can see Kushala or her Fox. 

Faces now appear in my mind, faces that I can for the first time match to the voices calling to me. Women's voices - Lizzie, Lynn, Meghada. Men's voices - Casino, Douglas, Goniff, Craig, Actor. They call to me, and I know they are family, they are love.

"But so is Kushala family! So is SHE love!" I cried wordlessly into the swirling darkness that now surrounds me.

And a quiet voice, "yes, she is. As have been others. As will BE others. It is your choice, Warrior. Not many are given that choice. Use it wisely, or at least, follow your heart, whether wisely or not. But you must choose now. Kushala will once again be Guardian of her People, and you, if you stay, you will be her strong right arm, along with many others. But between you now will be the veil of her duties, at least in this time. Your time as other than that will be a sweet memory to both, but it is at an end. Choose, Warrior, while the opportunity is being given to you."

This time, when they speak to me, the voices, call to pull me back, this time I am able to return, if I choose. I know that. There is joy at the knowing that I can rejoin those who have become my family. And yet, I hesitate. 

In the distance I can see a woman on a grey mare, sitting, watching me. I could return to her, my Kushala, stand beside her if no longer able to hold her in my arms as lover.

Perhaps I could even search out the others who have made their way through my dreams, my life-while-dreaming. All it would take would be removing that wrist band, letting go of that cord that pulls gently at me. A cord made up of voices, firm hands, gentle hands.

The voices call me, though, call me back. Voices hoarse, throats seemingly thin and drawn with talking, calling to me.

In the distance, Kushala raises a hand in farewell, and I know her eyes will be kind and understanding, the smile on her face gentle. 

"Perhaps we will meet again, Bodaway, will love again," I hear her whisper in the wind. "I will remember you, always."

And I open my eyes, and look around with a fresh understanding. Lizzie in the chair beside me, her hand stroking my forearm, her face twisted, her eyes closed tight against the tears I can see slipping down her face. Casino sitting on the bed beside me, looking like he hasn't slept in weeks. He's complaining, of course, but his eyes are red, and his voice shaky as he talks to me, telling me he's tired of carrying all the weight around this place - that I need to get my sorry ass in gear and get with the program. Douglas is in a chair just beyond, asleep in a way you can only when you are totally exhausted.

And from the doorway, a voice just as weary, but with relief in every word, in every line of that slender body. That grin welcomed me back, even as his words scolded me.

"Well, Chiefy, about ruddy time you decided to come back! Coo! 'Gaida said she thought you would, but that you 'ad some wandering, some remembering to do first, some thinking. Don't know why you couldn't've just done all that sitting at the table, you know! Well, except for the wandering, and you coulda asked one of us to go with you if you 'ad to do some of that! These three been right worried about you, you know, along with the rest of us! Casino 'ardly . . ."

But his words are drowned out as the others become aware, know I've returned. Pappy has me in a fierce hug, then Lizzie and the bleary-eyed Douglas coming to gather me in.

"Shit, Indian! You do that again, I swear I'll beat the shit outta you," Casino blusters, his voice choking on the words, as Goniff chuckles damply and turns to go and get the others.

I am back again, living the life I lived before. But sometimes, in my dreams, I ride the mountains on a spotted horse, a raven-haired woman at my side. It's not my life, I know that. And yet, in some ways, it seems like it maybe WAS my life, once upon a time. Maybe it's a life yet to come. I really don't know.

Either way, I am richer for having experienced that life, if only in my dreams. I don't let it harm what I have now, the treasures that have been given to me in this life - Casino, Lizzie, Douglas, and all the rest. 

But, I don't discount it, either. Sometimes I listen to Meghada talk of things the Clan believe, and increasingly I know that she is right. Treasure is treasure, if that's how we think of it, whether someone, everyone else, agrees or not. 

And for someone who thought he had nothing of value, either to give or to possess, I am increasingly finding that I have riches beyond measure, riches a king couldn't hope to hold within his hands. Maybe not in the same lifetime, no; but riches that are there, riches that exist, and I know that I am blessed beyond any measure I could consider. 

The only problem is, what, who am I to yearn for in the next Turn of the Wheel? Will it be Casino, or Lizzie, or Kushala or some other? 

Perhaps it isn't a problem after all; maybe I am not meant to yearn, to choose. If I have been given treasures before, have been given treasures now, perhaps I will again. So perhaps it's not for me to determine what those treasures are to be, but to await the Turn of the Wheel and discover then what has been given to me. For, surely, treasures await, of one nature or another. Truly, I am blessed.


End file.
